An ongoing edible adventure

Recipes - Vegetables

30 March 2011

I had first learned about this recipe for a rhubarb-based spicy sweet sour sauce from the seasonal cookbook Jamie at Home: Cook Your Way to the Good Lifeway back in the rhubarb season of 2009. I was particularly intrigued because it'd been the first (and still the only) recipe I'd seen for using rhubarb in a savoury setting. It was originally intended for use as a sauce with pork belly and Chinese-style egg noodles with spring salady shoots. It was yummy enough, but something in my head just kept saying "this sauce is going to be amazing with stingray" (aka skate, for you Western types).

In my native Singapore stingray is often slathered in sambal belacan, wrapped in banana leaves and then BBQed (I'm salivating just thinking about it, thank God I'm due for a visit home in 2 weeks!). I figured the rhubarb sauce was going to give the silky gelatinous meaty stingray a lot of fabulous tartness and heat, but without the heavy pungence of the fermented shrimp paste in the belacan. A lighter, more assam-style taste, with a Western-hemisphere substitute for tamarind, if you will.

So I tried it, I loved it, and I've waited 2 years -- with 15 months of backpacking in between -- for rhubarb season to finally roll around again so that I could share this with you. It's a touch off the beaten track, but I hope you like it!

Ingredients for the sauce:

Makes 1 large jar, enough for 2-4 servings of stingray

400g rhubarb stems 4-6 cloves garlic 1 large thumb of ginger 1 medium sized onion 2 chillis (I like to use a mix of red and green to get different colour highlights in the sauce)

09 December 2010

A veggie box on your doorstep is delightful thing to wake up to any day, but exponentially more so on those days when the world outside is covered in a subzero meringue of snow and the roads and sidewalks a creme brulee of ice.

This time of year the boxes are always heavy with starchy roots and gourds, which for soup fiends like me is perfect for boiling up and blitzing into cauldron upon cauldron of soul-toasting potions.

When making this particular soup I realised I'd run out of chicken stock, but given the frost was in no mood to venture outside. I could try to scrape together a vegetable broth, but I haven't yet come across a sufficiently convincing made-from-scratch version at the best of times. I also didn't want to resort to MSG and chemical laden stock cubes.

What to do?

After a rummage through the fridge, I decided to take a punt on using miso paste (the one used here had bonito extract). After the squash had been cooking for 45 minutes, I tried 1 cube with a dab of miso on it. I am thrilled to report that it produced an absolutely delightful result -- the miso gave lift of salt, but instead of the sometimes-metallic high-note of salt, the miso had a much deeper and rounder sweetness. Later, when the soup was in its recognisable soup format, it was very hard to pinpoint the miso in the soup. First-time tasters aren't likely to spot it unless they're looking for it.

The recipe below also works very well with carrots, and -- I am willing to bet -- pumpkins. If you find other root vegetables that fare well as the headline act for this miso-based chorus, please let me know!

Top tip? Make a big batch, share with loved ones, and keep each other warm and fuzzy!

Add onion and garlic-ginger paste, and fry on medium heat for a couple of minutes, until the onion turns translucent

Add the butternut squash cubes and stir until the oily contents cover the squash evenly

Add water until all the squash is just about covered

Bring to the boil, then lower stove flame to low-medium and simmer for 45 minutes

Test the squash with a fork. It should yield easily and start to be just a touch mushy

Add the miso and stir in

Add the chili and coriander (both raw), and blend or hand-blitz until contents are mostly smooth

Add milk and blend until soup is smooth and velvety

If soup feels sludgy, add a bit of milk or boiling water at a time and mix, until you get the smoothness and lightness you want (do this gradually -- it's easier to dilute a soup than to re-thicken it)

Add additional miso paste or salt, and black pepper to taste

Serve up the soup, and garnish with a sprig of fresh coriander and a few drops of chili oil

If you like, add a dollop of greek yogurt in the bowl just before serving, to add creaminess with a tangy lift

Best eaten with toes curled in a pair of furry slippers, gazing out the window at the snow outside.

19 October 2010

Fifteen months gallavanting around the world was fabulous and all, but I'm so happy to be back within kitchen's reach and, as of last week, rooting around in my Riverford Organic veggie box again.

But between unpacking, catching up with loved ones in the UK, trying to make any kind of dent in my long backlog of travel posts, and now starting some proper market research for my percolating business idea (watch this space), I've had less time to potter around in the kitchen than I would like. Hats off to those of you who whip up so many culinary wonders while maintaining a full time job!

So I'm always on the lookout for quick and fuss-free recipes that don't compromise on deliciousness. These 2 corn recipes -- by 2 of the best chefs you probably haven't heard of -- make the most of now-in-season corn, and are absolutely inspirational in terms of ease and taste. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do!

Kosambari (Corn and Pomegranate Indian Salad)

This one's from Babs's Mum, whose amazing cooking skills makes our post-gallavant diet a daily struggle! To make meals a win-win situation, I've been cajoling her to show me more of her South Indian salads. This one blew me away. I'm hoping to eat a lot more of this while the corn and pomegranate seasons overlap.

Just as the oil starts to smoke, add the onion, chili, mustard seeds and curry leaves. Warm for 2-3 minutes to release fragrance

Add the corn kernels to the pan, and cook for 5-7 minutes, until the kernels are bright yellow and soft. Add pinch of salt to taste

Empty the pan's contents into a bowl

Mix in the pomegranate seeds, coconut and coriander

Serve up!

Elote (Mexican Corn on the Cob)

All through our 15 months on the road, I was tortured by friends' rave reviews, and blog and Facebook photos of dishes whipped up or slaved over by Si, a relatively recent addition to my food obsessed circle of friends. I left shameless flattering and pleading comments on every post about fish tacos, handmade burgers from hand-ground beef, salmon carpaccio et al, which all came back to one key message "Can I please please please try your cooking sometime".

So when Si offered to cook for me the first weekend I got back to the UK, I jumped about 3 buildings high at the chance.

This dish -- Si's cheeseless rendition of elote, a ubiquitous sweet-salty-spicy Mexican street snack -- was phenomenal. And it's just the beginning... I hope.

17 September 2010

Above: Sambal belacan with Hokkien Mee. It's self destructive to write about stuff like this when I'm kitchenless in Brazil...

It used to be that we learned to cook at the elbows of a more learned foodie. A parent. A relative. A teacher at a class. An industry master in the bowels of a restaurant kitchen.

Nowadays it seems like more and more of these teachers' elbows are electronic -- attempting to break through the limitations of time and geography, but more immediately interactive than the process of publishing and referring to a cookbook. It's getting so popular that there's an actual term for it now: the cookalong.

Various cookalong formats are in play. In the UK alone, Gordon Ramsaytakes aslightly Orwellian broadcast-and-follow-me TV-show format; Nigella Lawson -- akin to a reading club -- posts a selected recipe a month and invites fans to cook the recipe at home within the month and provide feedback on her website. Rachel McCormack's first Catalan Cooking cookalong was "live" over Twitter, so her students for the session could ping questions and comments along the way (The Twitter conversation recapped here).

What's your take on these electronic elbows? Do you feel like a new universe of culinary teachers is opening up to you? Does it reduce the need for buying cookbooks and plane tickets to learn from them? Or does it encourage you to look for more of their literature and/or products in the market? Do you like the idea of a scattered community cooking "alone-together" with you? Do you feel frustrated that despite being "live" in various locations you ultimately still can't get your teacher to eyeball your frying pan and check that it "smells" right, or to taste your end-product and proclaim that yes, you nailed it?

And so it goes with this sambal belacan (chilli with dried fermented shrimp paste) recipe. A London-based reader asked me (while I was in South America) if I could help her with one. Even though I adore sambal belacan as much as the next South-East Asian -- I love it fried with kang kong (water spinach) or sweet potato leaves, or slathered over a BBQed stingray (skate) -- I didn't know how to make the pungent condiment myself. *The shame!*

I confess. This is because I've been lolling about in culinary coddling. Every time I visit Singapore, my Mum and our longtime housekeeper Aunty Kiew Moi send me back to London with a couple of jars of the homemade stuff. Wrapped in several layers of plastic bags, rubber bands, newspapers and tape. It's a wonder that airport security hasn't yet sent in the bomb squad to check out these mysterious looking parcels in my luggage...

Anyway, this reader's request was a good nudge to talk to my Mum about the work that goes into these magic jars. And so it happened -- I learned how to make our family's version of sambal belacan, at my mother's electronic elbows. And now, so can you.

I hope to make this with Mum in the room someday soon. With all our modern technology, it's still the only way we'll both be able to confirm that it smells right.

Note: If you eat dishes that use sambal belacan only infrequently, make your first batch with half the amount of ingredients suggested above. Or, make a full batch and share the love!

Directions

Wash chillies and pat dry

Cut block of belacan into 10 slices

Toast belacan slices over low fire. Use an oven toaster or pan-fry in a dry and clean frying pan and toast for 4-7 minutes. Your nose will tell you when its done. Or your neighbours will. Your Asian neighbours will be banging on your door demanding to have some. Your non-Asian neighbours might also bang on your door, but probably to check if Moby Dick died in your kitchen. Two months ago.

While waiting for the belacan to cool, de-seed the chillies. Wear a kitchen glove to prevent stinging sensation of the chilli juices

Use a food processor to blend the belacan and chillies until smooth. Do this in small batches

Add sugar and salt to taste during the final few seconds of each blending batch

Store in several small containers (each container with the amount you would need for use over a couple of days)

Refrigerate what you need for the present and freeze the remainder

Serve with freshly squeezed lime juice when needed

Top Tips from Mum & Me

Like wine, terroir also influences the quality of belacan. Mum's belacan of choice comes from Penang, a lovely foodie island off the northwest coast of Malaysia. We don't visit Penang as often as we'd like, but we always come back to Singapore with our bags loaded with belacan bricks when we do! (Rasa Malaysia and Eating Asia are 2 good sources for finding out more about the Penang food scene)

Customise your sambal belacan's level of heat. If you're a chilli newbie, use more big red chillis. If you're a fiery veteran, use more chilli padi

When using sambal belacan that you're storing in the fridge (as opposed to the freezer), make sure the spoon you're using to dish out the sambal belacan is washed and dried. Mould can develop within 2 days otherwise

Sambal belacan stored in the freezer can last for up to 6 months (Mum admits she isn't 100% sure on this one because her batch always gets used up before then!)

23 February 2010

I said in December, at the beginning of our 2 months in India, that Babs and I were doomed to fatness and bliss. To be precise, we both put on 4kg each while we were in India. This post is about the precise moment when I pushed off down this slippery slope.

A little context for the uninitiated: One of the big ways Indian relatives show their love for you is by feeding you. (I think the other big way -- if it's a very close relative, like a parent -- is that they buy a house for you. So that they know exactly where you are, so that they know exactly where to go to feed you.) If you tell them "I'm not hungry, I already ate," it's like you're telling an angsty 14-year-old who just wrote you an epic confession of their affection that you just want to be friends.

Most of the time this results in just garden-variety overfeeding. A mandatory 2nd or 3rd helping at any given meal. Fine. We do that anyway. For better or worse, our India relatives love us for it.

The thing is, some of our them love us a little too dangerously.

"You're going to get me into trouble at dinner. They're going to ask me why I'm not eating as much," I whispered weakly that December evening in Bangalore to Aunty Shaistha.

"You're walking to dinner. You'll be hungry again by then," she whispered back.

"But dinner is at Mahboob Pasha's house."

Mahboob Pasha is Aunty Shaistha's brother-in-law. He lives in the same building. One flight upstairs.

"It's just a small bowl. Just a little taste," she says.

Just a little taste then.

My tastebuds go into overdrive. My eyes bulge. My mind races. When was the last time I had a taste of rice noodles? London? 7 months ago?

"I don't... think... I can... stop at just one bowl..."

Aunty Shaistha smiled. She knew she has me in the venus flytrap of her khara seeve casserole now. And yet dinner obligations -- inevitably involving at least 2 mutton dishes -- remained at hand. Surely I couldn't tell them the saboteur of their lovingly prepared meal came from downstairs.

And so I found myself turning into a dinner bigamist. Slippety slide. And then find out our hosts upstairs pull the exact same manovuere any time we're trying to leave their house to go to our next engagement. Slippety slide. It doesn't matter that we've just come from downstairs, or that downstairs is our next engagement "So what you've eaten downstairs? You haven't eaten up here yet." Slippety slide.

And now, in Singapore, if I'm going out to meet friends for a meal, but something yummy is cooking at home, I'll sneak a little bowl before I head out. "Just a little taste," I tell my Mum.

This dish -- Aunty Shaistha's khara seeve -- is the dish that started it all. If you are able to resist, you are clearly a better human being than I. But probably a little hungrier.

19 February 2010

Above: Next to a tasty dosa (especially a paper dosa) and a spicy-tamarindy-tomatoey sambar, an anaemic looking coconut chutney is usually nothing to trumpet about. Then I met Aunty Chandra

I'd never really paid much attention to coconut chutney before. Sat next to the bowl of red sambar for my dosai (a South Indian breakfast-staple crepe), coconut chutney's dirty shade of white isn't the most inspiring colour. On the occasions I try it, it usually tastes like...watery paper mulch, sometimes with a touch of salt. Who's got the time and spare calories, know what I mean?

So when Auntry Chandra -- the wife of Uncle Anand, Babs's Dad's buddy from medical school -- served coconut chutney with breakfast when we stayed with her in Mangalore in December, I dipped in initially only out of politeness.

It kicked me awake and almost off my chair. My mouth was literally watering, triggered by a refreshing sour twang. As were my eyes -- always a good sign of chili-heat. Or happiness. Sometimes it's hard to tell.

I kept dipping. Then digging. In that familiar gentle but determined race with Babs to the bottom of the bowl.

Enough preamble. I need to learn how to make this. So do you. Thankfully Aunty Chandra graciously obliges, much amused.

02 December 2009

"Okay. So. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being 'Wen you're being an idiot, just stop this nonsense now', and 10 being 'helllllllll yeeeeeeah', where would you say you are?" I asked Babs and Louise, our fabulous host in Dubai.

"Five..." said Babs, "...not that a 1 has ever stopped you."

" 'On a scale?' You are SUCH a geek. Seriously," said Louise. She would know. We used to work together in Singapore.

We were at the poultry aisle in Spinney's, a supermarket chain in Abu Dhabi. In particular, we were all staring at a trough full of frozen Butterball turkeys. It was mid afternoon on Thanksgiving Thursday, and I was testing the momentum behind my crazy idea to throw together an impromptu Thanksgiving dinner out here in the Gulf. If we went through with it, the plan was to buy a turkey now, thaw it in Louise's car outside while we chatted over cake and coffee, and hope for the best come dinnertime. Given I usually defrost turkeys overnight, there was a serious risk of serving up turkey slices for dinner and turkey popsicles for dessert.

But I couldn't just give up now. Not when we had found any turkey at all out here in the desert. I love turkey. I love its dramatic size, carving it, how its clean firm flesh is such a great canvas for gravy and cranberry. I love picking apart the carcass after dinner, gleefully anticipating a week's worth of snacks. I love turning a turkey's lovely bones into a hearty soup or congee. I loved turkey even way back when my family ate store-cooked ones at Christmas, woefully flavourless and so overcooked you choked on its dryness with every mouthful. Back then it wasn't about eating turkey at Christmas dinners, it was about drowning mostly untouched turkey slices in gravy and mozzerella to make a very messy turkey melt for days afterwards.

Then while at university in the US, I got invited to Thanksgiving dinners with various friends' families, and learnt how to cook turkey myself. Pilgrims pillaging the New World notwithstanding, I like the ritual of sitting down with family and friends with a mountain of food, and being thankful for the year's bounty of provision and affection. So I took the tradition with me back home to Singapore, and later to London, converting (or at least feeding) a few friends along the way for whom I am thankful.

A decade on from my first DIY turkey, was I about to break with my adopted tradition?

"Hey look. These turkeys are defrosted already. And they're halal!" said Herbert, our friend based in Abu Dhabi, coming back from further along the aisle.

The key to nailing this recipe is to move like a rockstar. The key to making this recipe your own is to riff like a jazz cat.

On hitting a high note on full phat flavour: Over the last few years Babs and I have experimented with posh trendy fats such as duck fat, goose fat, and beef fat. I still prefer this olive oil and butter mix. But hey, play it your way!

Clockwise from top left: Different riffs on the basic Rockstar Roast Potato recipe -- With garlic and fried skins; with carrots and paprika; bulked up with butternut squash and courgettes and infushed with fresh rosemary; fired up with sliced red chili and cayenne pepper

Add a few generous swigs of olive oil to a large frying pan on medium heat (Babs insists the skins need to be "swimming" in oil)

Add the bay leaves and sliced garlic and fry for a minute

Add the potato skins, and fry for ~20 minutes until crispy

Parboiling the Potatoes

While the potato skins are frying, bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil

Put a pinch of salt and a swig of olive oil to the boiling water

Add the potato chunks and parboil for ~15 minutes. Test by sticking a fork into one of the smaller pieces. It should be soft on the outside but hard on the inside

Rockstar Moves

Drain the water from the potato pot

Add the contents from the frying pan into the pot with the potatoes

Put the lid on, secure firmly, and shake the pot like a rockstar! This will distribute the flavour of the fried potato skins, and bruising the potato chunks will help them crisp their edges while roasting in the oven

Roasting the Potatoes

Preheat oven to maximum heat

Move potatoes from pot to a roasting tray. Create as thin a layer as you can manage for maximum crispiness

Grind salt and pepper evenly throughout the tray

Add any of the following ingredients evenly throughout the tray, depending on how much you want to pimp this up: Small chunks of butter, peeled garlic segments, red chili slices, mixed herbs, cayenne pepper

If additional guests RSVP late and you need to bulk up the dish, add any selection of raw carrots, butternut squash, or courgettes (cut into evenly sized pieces) to the roasting tray

Place in oven and roast for ~30 minutes. Check regularly to watch the thin line between a good crisp and a nasty burn

I've read that Jamie Oliver gives the potatoes a very light mashing and additional butter bastings at each 10 minute mark, to maximise crispness. I leave it to you to decide if the extra effort is worth it.

28 July 2009

A quick one without photos, since I made this in a hurry on the day we were scheduled to leave the finca in Orgiva, Spain.

After spending 3 weeks in the Spanish countryside, I've developed a taste for adding potato to omelettes as the Spanish do, to bulk up a quick and simple lunch. This recipe makes lunch for 2, or a snack for 4.

1 medium-sized potato, skinned. Slice widthways into thin discs, then cut each of the discs (in a stack) into thin strips
1 small onion
1 green pepper
1 large tomato
4-8 mushrooms, depending on size
Chop all of the above finely

Drizzle olive oil into a frying pan on medium heat on the stove, and warm for a couple of minutes

Add in the potato strips and the chopped onion. Add a couple of shakes of salt, and a pinch of ground black pepper. Fry for about 5 minutes. If cooking on the go, stir occasionally while you chop the green pepper and tomatoes

Add the green pepper and tomatoes and again, stir occasionally while you chop the mushrooms

Add the mushrooms and stir again

Add the eggs. You can break them into a bowl and whisk them a little with a fork if you like an even yellow colour. I cracked them straight into the pan and just spread the yolk around, to save washing up a bowl. Spread the egg around evenly and cook for 3-5 minutes

Turn the oven grill on

Stick the frying pan in the oven for another ~3 minutes to finish cooking the top of the omelette

If you're the more carnivorous type, you can add bits of chopped up chorizo or jamon, or even morcillo (black pudding sausage), which adds the intense flavour of morcillo without its heaviness.

26 July 2009

On a couple of occasions at the finca in Orgiva, Spain, Babs and I had the always-fun opportunity to whip up a meal based on whatever was already in the house and on the land.

The above was a happily successful experiment inspired by the tubs of the unused olive harvest from the winter sitting around in the kitchen and living room, and vague (and delicious) memories of Teochew and Thai olive fried rice.

With 6 cups of rice for 8 diners we thought we might have over-catered as usual -- given there were 2 kids among us -- but the only leftovers was a tiny snack for Zumbar.

A lesson from my mother: The key to frying rice is to fry already-cooked and cooled-down rice, so that the grains don't break up while being tossed about in a wok. So steam your rice at least a few hours ahead of frying or even the night before

Cook the rice in a rice cooker. If cooking in a pot, use 3 cups water for every cup of rice. Combine the rice and water. Drizzle olive oil and sprinkle salt. Turn the stove heat up to high. When the water boils, turn the heat down to as low as possible, and cover the pot. Depending on how much husk is left on the rice, it can take anything from 15 to 45 minutes to cook. Check by fluffing with a fork and tasting. If it's absorbed all the water but still crunchy, add a little boiling water. If it's cooked but too wet, drain the water and let the stove heat dry the rice for a few minutes

To fry, add the olive oil to a large wok or pot, turn the stove heat on high and heat for a couple of minutes

Add the chopped onion and garlic, and fry for a couple of minutes

Add the olives, and continue frying until the onions goes translucent

Add the rice, and continue frying until the rice is roughly equally stained by the olives

Add salt and pepper to taste, and serve up!

To pimp this dish up, consider adding chopped basil. A more traditional Teochew or Thai rendition would likely involve adding minced pork. If going down this route, season the minced pork with light soy sauce and white pepper, and add to the wok after the onions and garlic but before the olives and rice.

Summer Veg Griddle and Salad

For the veggie griddle, I sliced up a few courgettes and red and green peppers (eggplant would work well too) into flat strips, laid them flat on a tray, drizzled olive oil and sprinkled salt, ground black pepper and dried basil and oregano and left it to sit for ~1/2 hour.

Turn the stove heat on medium-high under a griddle pan. Place a layer of the sliced veggies on the pan and leave for 3-5 minutes, then turn over. Continue until you get your desired level of softness and charred-ness.

You can also grill the veggies on an outdoor BBQ, or in a roasting tray in the oven, if you already have one or the other going for a large meal. Both should take about 15-20 minutes, though the roasting option is less likely to produce the smoky and singed-skin effect.

For the salad, dice up some cucumbers and tomatoes (depending on the size of your dining party), add a sprinkle of chopped onion, and drizzle olive oil, a good squeeze of lemon juice or a dash of vinagrette, and a sprinkle of dried basil and oregano, salt and cracked black pepper. Mix, and serve up.

04 July 2009

Maastricht -- nestled in a corner of Netherlands between Belgium and Germany -- was much more about catching up with friends Chris and Saskia rather than going on our usual food excursion. Nonetheless, here are a few places from the weekend that stood out, if you happen to be in the area.

Chris picked us up from the train station in Hasselt, Belgium, and promptly took us to Grand Cafe, where there are more than 300 beers on offer. Among others, Babs tries the Brugse Babbelaar (natch). We also get introduced to bitterballen -- deep fried creamy-flour-&-bits-of-mystery-meat croquettes, dipped in mustard and curry ketchup. These are apprently quite the regional delicacy. According to Wikipedia, "They are eaten in the Netherlands and Belgium, and hardly anywhere else."

Saskia, who works for a company that provides care for the disabled, took us to a cute cafe owned by her company in Maastricht. Called Doe Gewoon, it translates loosely to "Do Normally". The kitchen and waitstaff are mentally challenged, but are capable and independent enough to work under supervision. Their offerings include an open-face tuna and anchovy sandwich, warm goat cheese and apple salad, and Dutch-style beef stew with chips. Frankly, we got better service and food here than at some "normal" restaurants.

During our afternoon meander, we were introduced to a famous bakery in town called Bisschopsmolen (Bishops Mill). An old water mill, dating back to the 11th century, was restored in 2004 and now mills its own locally grown grains that then get baked and transformed right on the premises into delicious treats. I reckon you can trust the quality of a bakery when the cashier sees you snapping with a camera and then happily gestures you into the kitchen to show off the baking team (right down to gleefully pinching their biceps).

We were also treated to some home-grilled hospitality. The highlight of the BBQ was Chris's eggplant spread. The recipe is as follows:

Wash and dry 2 eggplants, prick them in various places with a fork (to prevent the skin from bursting) then put them in a roasting dish
and in the oven approx 180 deg C for 30 min until they sag and look a
bit smoky. Scrape out the insides and discard the skin. Roughly chop
the cooked flesh. Combine with chopped garlic and onions, a dash of basil and oregano, salt, ground black pepper, olive oil and a splash of lemon juice.

Simple, and fabulous on bread.

On our last day at Chris and Saskia's, Sunshine, the youngest of Saskia's current batch of 6 Tonkinese cats, refuses to get off my stomach. Surely your time could be better spent than blogging about food all day, she stares accusingly. I tell her to read it before she knocks it. So she does.

12 June 2009

The last week(s?) have been spent trip planning and packing. The last 2 years of our lives are now in 31 boxes, and the next 1 is on 1 spreadsheet.

As our kitchen infrastructure, remaining time, and budgets tighten, the rules for making meals at home have become as follows:

1) Are the ingredients unfussy / easy to prep?

2) Can everything be cooked in 1 pot or pan?

3) Does it store and reheat well so that 1 cooking session can last 2 or 3 meals?

4) ... is it a punnet of strawberries from the farmers market?

The recipes below will hopefully provide a few ideas for when you're feeling over-worked and under-flush. Remember! Use what's already in your kitchen or very nearby. If an accessory ingredient is missing, improvise. These recipes are for when you already have enough stress in your day.

Asparagus and Cheese Frittata

This currently being the thick of asparagus season, they were going for £4 for 2 bundles at the Perry Court Farm stall at my Sunday morning haunt, Queens Park Farmers Market in London. So I went to get while the going was good.

The English summer bounty at the Perry Court Farm stall at Queens Park Farmers Market

Makes 2-4 portions

Ingredients:4-6 eggs, depending on size of eggs and how much leftovers you want
1 bundle asparagus, segregated into fat and skinny stalks
1 medium-sized onion
1 large ball fresh mozzerella (cheddar or halloumi or brie will work too, if that's what's in the fridge)
1 tablespoon olive oil
Salt and pepper

Set oven to grill at medium heat

Finely chop the onion, and chop the fat-stalked asparagus into 2-3cm segments

Turn stove on to medium heat. Drizzle the olive oil into the skillet, then add the onions and fry until they soften and turn slightly translucent

Add the chopped asparagus, and stir fry for ~3-5 minutes

Lightly mix 4-6 eggs in a bowl (leave room for yellow and white streaks), season lightly with salt, add to skillet and distribute evenly

When most (but not all) of the egg is cooked, turn off the stove. Add half of the skinny asparagus across the skillet, cover with cheese of choice, then add the remaining asparagus to form criss-crosses as above

Place the skillet in the oven just under the grill (you can leave the oven door open if you're worried about the skillet handle)

Grill for 5 minutes. This will be enough to grill the asparagus and melt and brown the cheese

Season with black pepper (I used a sprinkle of Turkish red pepper flakes as well - it brings more fragrance than heat)

Using a wok or a large chef pan, turn stove to medium-high heat and add 2-3 glugs of olive oil

Add the chopped garlic and onion and fry for 1-2 minutes until soft

Add the vegetables. Carrots and spring greens take longer; leeks and mushrooms take much less time

Season with lemongrass powder, white pepper, chili powder and fish sauce. Stir fry and let sit for ~7 minutes. You can add a few splashes of water to keep the bottom of the pan moist, but not too much as the vegetables will naturally "sweat"

Add the glass noodles (but not the cold water) to the pan, and fold in everything together as the noodles soften. Season with more fish sauce and lemongrass powder to taste

Ingredients:1 large onion, chopped finely
1 large bulb of garlic, chopped finely
Olive oil
500g pasta (I used organic wholewheat). Spirals or penne can pick up bits of onion and garlic well
1 small jar of pestoSalt and pepper

Bring a large pot of water to a fast boil. Add a pinch of salt and a drizzle of olive oil. Add the pasta, cook for 10-12 minutes depending on how al dente you like your pasta

While waiting for the pasta to cook, chop up the "raw" veggies. I tend to slice the cherry tomatoes in half so they don't slip away when I spear them with a fork

Drain the water from the pot, set the pasta aside. Wipe the pot dry, put it back on the stove at medium-high heat and add a couple of glugs of olive oil

Add the chopped onion and garlic and fry for 1-2 minutes

Add the veggies for cooking (broccoli will take the longest so add that first). Fry for 5-7 minutes. Never put the lid on the pot / pan when stir frying veggies - it will turn the greens a gormless yellow

Turn off the flame

Add the cooked pasta, and the jar of pesto, and the raw garnishing veggies. Season with black pepper. Stir until everything is evenly coated with pesto

Season with salt only if the pesto hasn't done enough

If you're clearing out the fridge or larder anyway, feel free to pimp this up with shreds of ham or flaked smoked fish e.g. mackerel or trout.

10 May 2009

It's one of those nights. You're home late from work. I mean late like it's summer you still got home in the dark. You're grumpy, and you're HUNGRY. You know if you go out and grab a box of fried chicken or a kebab or order pizza (again) you'll loathe yourself after. But today you really cannot be arsed to spend 30-45 minutes chopping prepping cooking washing etc etc etc. Bleah.

How about just boiling 1 saucepan of water and 10 minutes total?

Your salt cravings get naturally satisfied by the samphire, carb cravings by the udon, and your palette gets a little much-needed pampering by the silky dark green sheets of wakame and the rich pop-pop-pop-pop-pops of the vermilion tobiko beads. You get to feel good about getting greens into your meal, complete with sea minerals. And if you don't have the luxury of a dishwasher you can even eat the finished product right from the saucepan so you have less to wash up after.

No fuss, no muss, no grease, no guilt.

Ingredients for 1 serving;

~100-150g samphire (photo above). A cactus-like frond that grows on European coasts, with a refreshing seawatery crunch when you bite down.. Available at good fishmongers in late spring and summer. Use as soon as possible, though the batch I bought lasted a week in the fridge with no damage

A palmful of dried wakame. This is seaweed, but not nori (nori is the roasted and rolled kind which is used for holding sushi rolls together). Silky with just enough bite when it unfurls in water. You won't need much more than a handful given how much they expand

~25 g tobiko – bright orange flying fish eggs, each slightly larger than a poppy seed. Not to be confused with salmon eggs, called ikura, also bright orange but about the size of a pearl. Available at Japanese markets. Special thanks to Melf who kindly picked up a tub for me from Natural Natural near the Finchley Road tube stop on this occasion

Sesame oil

Extra virgin olive oil

Japanese red pepper

Here's what you do:

Rinse 1 large handful of samphire in cold water

Fill half a large saucepan with filtered tap water and bring to a boil on high heat on the stove

Chuck in the fresh udon. Leave for 2 minutes, then agitate with a fork to help separate the noodles

Add the samphire and a handful of dried wakame. Agitate for another 30 seconds to 1 minute (not more), then drain off all the water

Add 2 large tablespoons of tobiko to the noodles and the greens, and toss

Add a few drops of sesame oil, a tiny drizzle of olive oil, and a dash of Japanese red pepper. Toss again and tuck in